


Step Lively

by callmeflo



Series: a Mage's Bane [2]
Category: Moren-Ezen
Genre: Gen, Scouting Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeflo/pseuds/callmeflo
Summary: There’s been some notices up about them hiring scouts.
Series: a Mage's Bane [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533155





	Step Lively

_February 8th_

_It’s warming up enough now that we’re not hiding away in our home at every opportunity, and the filly is grown enough to properly break so I’ve decided to do so. She’s been sat on and I took her out for a few little trips last year - she surprised me, as usual, in how nice a ride she is, how teachable, and how comfortable she’s been with everything, especially considering I’ve just had her stuck in a paddock most her life._

_Today I just rode her a little around the city to the outskirts, letting her remember the easy work we did before winter, starting to show her what her job is. There’s been some notices up about them hiring scouts. I have a horse and not much else lined up so I might as well give it a go, and having the chance to see some of the world outside Haspar can’t hurt._

_> She goes well off the rein but needs a bit more work on leg aids._  
_> Try taking her down by Wriysh Lake to see what she’s like in water, on the rocky shore, and with the loud and busy fishing going on._  
_> Might be worth spending some time out on the steppe working on gaits and control. What will she be like with wild animals? Could I hunt from her back?_  
_> Do a couple nights out on the steppe or desert, see if she ground ties when there’s more interesting things around her, try her tied overnight._  
_> Give some mountain trails a go eventually._

✧

It’s probably not advisable to use a young, green horse for any sort of important work or competition, and Nawra well knows that. But the filly was dumped on them unexpectedly and has hung around eating their other horses’ feed for over two years now and needs to earn her keep. There are no excuses or exceptions in this post cataclysm world, where the technology and magic that once offered an easy life are now extinct, after decades of the human population being devoured by sickness and then slaughtered in war. It’s a hard life for everyone, and everything.

The filly is enjoying herself at least. Nawra isn’t sure if she has some magical effect on the Jibita or if the filly is just a damn strange animal naturally, but excepting the huge blood marks bleeding across her chest she’s practically a dream horse.

The previous autumn was non-stop as usual, but any spare moments of rest found Nawra out in a clearing with the growing dun filly. At two years of age she was nearing her full height and her bones were strengthened enough to begin work.

They started with a long rope on her halter, circling her over and over and offering commands and cues for her to learn. Then there was handling up close, getting the filly to follow and not fight a tight lead rein, to walk properly and not dawdle, to keep to her own personal space and not beg for attention.

She may not be popular with her owners or anyone else around town, and had never been fussed over or coddled, but at least the filly had never had to fear for her life like those turned out on the steppe among the raptors and dune dogs. And so the lack of fear lead her to be comfortable with Nawra laying blankets and packs across her back, lifting her legs and hobbling them in turn, and then eventually mounting her. The filly stood perfectly still and accepted her weight.

Now, an entire season later and aged three, she thankfully remembers it all. Nawra isn’t gentle as she loads up the saddle and bags, using every experience to desensitise the Jibita; if they’re in a rush to leave their camp, she won’t be pausing to coo and pat her through the process. 

Nawra swings herself up without a block or fence, the filly’s stature small enough to make it easy for her. Despite the rough but not unkind care, the horse jogs beneath her, ears pricked and eager, excited. It’s a good omen that she’s not nervous for new experiences. And a strange feeling to be so trusted by a horse she’s never said a kind word to.

“You mad filly,” Nawra murmurs, reluctantly proud, reaching forward a hand to stroke down a line of tsusmark, and then she jabs in her heels and swings the reins to the side, bound for the open steppe.

✧

It’s busy around the city as always, the fresh spring air and earlier sunrise waking the world after a long, slow winter. The market is, as ever, open. The roads are swarming with people; long time residents, visitors stopping by for a time, and merchants from both categories with human- and horse-drawn carts overflowing with pelts, produce, trinkets, scrap.

Nawra uses it to her advantage. She lets the rein slack enough that the filly knows to make her own way instead of relying on her rider’s directions, and then carefully adds leg aids as they wind left and right. She takes them up and down several busy, roughly paved pathways and through the market square before finally taking the route to the open grasslands, and by the time they get there the Jibita is going off her leg easy as anything.

She meanders the last stretch, leaning with her seat and brushing her calves against the filly’s shoulder, barrel, stifle, pushing her to circle this tree and that boulder, for no reason but to test that control. Near perfect, and it will continue to improve.

Nawra kicks her horse into a swift trot.

✧

The scenery of Wriysh Lake is beautiful, with its calm water mirroring the azure sky, the rocky shores rich with plant life, and the abundance of fauna on the surface as well as beneath it. Small fishing boats dot the horizon with their nets and lines cast out, tangling like a spider’s web, and on every still perch is a line of crowing birds awaiting a gift wrapped meal.

It’s louder as they approach. There are small strips of beach but most is dock and paved for those who spend day after day here for work, and on this sunny spring midday all of those are bustling with action. Nawra’s horse doesn’t know quite where to look, surrounded by the cacophony as they are, but doesn’t spook at the thrown ropes or yelling tradesmen, and still listens (mostly) attentively to her rider’s commands.

They thread their way through the chaos and down to the water’s edge. Nawra drops the reins loose for the Jibita to give the lapping lake a sniff and then step forward for a cool drink. When she’s done she lifts her head and blows, the splattering drops from her whiskers making tiny ripples around her hooves.

At the click of Nawra’s tongue, the dun filly walks confidently forward, careless of the icy liquid splashing up her mismatched legs.

✧

As they round a shingly hillock, Nawra abruptly pulls back and hisses a curse, grabbing a chunk of streaked mane for balance as the filly skids on her hind legs to a halt. Not thirty yards in front of them is a gathering of little raptors, recognisable as the lesser plains type from their considerably smaller size. They prey primarily on birds and eggs, if she recalls correctly, but they can be vicious when threatened and their long talons are nothing to scoff at.

She’d been hoping to run into something predatory, but would’ve preferred a bit more distance. She sits deep in the fur-lined saddle, keeps hold of the horse’s mane, and holds the reins taut, not wanting to risk missing a quick reaction and consequently lose her seat.

In front of them the creatures shift and squawk, ruffling their feathers and eyeing the pair with consideration, but none leap forward and her filly doesn’t leap back. It’s a standstill for a long, tense moment. Nawra carefully loosens a hand to reassure her mount, patting at her quivering neck, and then tentatively steers her to the side to circle wide around the group of raptors.

Apparently unfailingly calm, the Jibita does as asked, keeping the predators in her peripheral but trusting Nawra to not steer her wrong. Her hooves are steady and ears focused. Even when Nawra drops the reins completely, relying only on leg aids, to draw the wooden bow from her shoulder, her horse obeys good as gold.

“Mad filly,” she mutters.

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of Nawra training Madsie in preparation for scouting.
> 
> Word Count(1421 WC), Horse + Rider(+2), Personal Work(+1) = 17EP for Nawra  
Word Count(1421 WC), Horse + Rider(+2), Personal Work(+1), Horse Training(+1) = 18EP for Madsie


End file.
